Well, you can only know if you’re all caught up – or at least through episode four – of Grey’s Anatomy. Of if you don’t care.

This is what makes me giddy with happiness.

Izzy and Alex!

Squeeeee!

That is pretty much all I have to say on the subject.

[No, actually, that is a lie. I could go on and on and on and ON. But that would be creepy and weird and I swear that I am not living in a fantasy world where I cheer on fictional characters as they embark into a fictional relationship that is, like, totally filled to the brim with cute and smooshy goodness.]

I like damaged boys.

I like thinking that I can fix them.

And so there is Alex, the quintessential damaged boy, and Izzy, the quintessential do-gooder, and they are together and they are cute.

I have wanted them to be together and cute since the beginning of time. So, obviously, I am happy.

Because maybe that means that I can find myself a nice, damaged boy. And I can fix him. And we can be happy.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

I wish that my mom didn't have to run the family.I wish that Aunt Marie's husband would step up.I with that boy didn't break Ashley's heart last night.I wish Meg wouldn't ask my mom to sew part of her Halloween costume tonight.I wish I had gotten to bed earlier last night.I wish Anna would stop bitching about her job.I wish I'd done more to prepare for the midterm I have on Saturday.I wish that the midterm I have on Saturday was actually a final exam.I wish that my dad knew how to help my mom out more.I wish Grandma and Mom weren't so responsible for Aunt Marie's day-to-day care.I wish Emma wasn't so crazy.I wish Emma wasn't so self-centered.I wish Emma could shut her mouth.I wish that I could skip Lucy's Halloween party on Saturday night. I wish that I'd only taken two classes this semester.I with that my mom didn't seem so sad.I with that my mom didn't seem so exhausted.I with that my mom didn't seem so sick.I wish I could fix everything.I wish I could fix something.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I try to prioritize. And, when you have homework and work-work, writing thank you cards sort of falls by the wayside.

But I am so. not. okay with skipping the process altogether. Sure, I collected the first of my birthday presents nearly a month ago, but I am still very thankful for them.

Thus, the notes.

When we were kids - my mom used to love to nag Meg and I about writing thank you notes. She'd harass us. And remind us. And threaten to send back the gifts. Until we finally sat down and wrote the thank you notes (probably three days after we received the gift).

I can still hear her.

For the last month, I've had these hanging over me.

Knew I needed to write them. Knew I had things that were, technically, more important.

I don't think I have ever been happier to finish up a batch of thank you cards. And Mom wasn't even nagging me.

Technically.

(I totally heard her in the back of my head. Every day. For an entire month. Sorry, Momma, but it was time to shut you up.)

It's a little strange for me to refrain from blogging for three days. I do realize that none of you come here to read about how fucking exhausted I am (why do you come here?!), so I'll just gloss over that.

Friday: nothing to report. Such a standard day. Boring to the maximum. I worked. I did homework. I went to sleep.

Saturday: I spent the morning at my house. I sat in bed and did homework. I did a little bit of laundry. Absolutely uneventful, but I have grown to appreciate my Saturday mornings. Is good to bum around and get a few things done. I went to class in the afternoon. I WATCHED THE PATHETIC MICHIGAN WOLVERINES MAKE ME SICK. (Seriously - all signs pointed to them losing in pathetic form and still my head exploded with rage!) And then I went to dinner with my family. I also almost managed to stay up until 11. But Blue was in my bed and my eyelids were very heavy.

Sunday: Joint birthday party for me, Emma and my dad. Will cover that in a separate post. Why? Because it sucked. I spent the rest of my day doing homework. And then, just as I was leaving to go to hockey, we lost power. It still wasn't on when I got back from hockey (two hours later) - so I packed up and went to Mammy and Pappy's house for the night.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

After we visited Aunt Marie in the hospital, Meg and I went to dinner. It was nearly 9:00, on a somewhat miserable, bitter and rainy Tuesday night. The restaurant was nearly empty.

We were seated at a table next to a couple that was definitely on their first date. Meg was not particularly talkative. I found a sick amount of joy in listening to their awkward, forced small talk.

I was exhausted – par for the course these days – and I couldn’t help but feel relieved that it wasn’t me at that table. The amount of energy required to sustain that conversation? Didn’t have it. That isn’t even taking into consideration the effort the poor girl went into making herself presentable. Couldn’t handle it.

But I eavesdropped on their conversation with a considerable amount of glee. Sports, Colorado, drinking, family, cooking. They hit it all. Even drunk driving.

I concocted a story in my head. They met on match.com. Her biological clock is ticking wildly. He’s been married before. Early thirties, I guessed. He had a bit of gray in his hair. She had a rough voice and leathery skin.

“What year did you graduate high school?” I don’t remember how the question was posed, but it wasn’t an overt request for her age. It fit into the conversation.

Monday, October 20, 2008

I could write about Aunt Marie and her surgery and the past week for hours. I haven’t. But I could. It’s just that it is emotional and exhausting and, sometimes, when you’re the thick of something it is hard to pull yourself out far enough to get any perspective.

But, since I was asked. ...and since it’s probably good for me... Here is a little update.

The NurseIt is interesting to see my mom in this situation. The way she goes in and takes charge. She will get Aunt Marie out of bed. Change her clothes. Tidy her room. She is very much the nurse. She does what needs to be done.

Though I doubt she realized it at the time, my mom became a nurse because she had this sick little sister. She was seasoned at the care-giving role. In a way, she is coming full circle. Being a nurse and a sister. Mom is very good at it. Aunt Marie is very lucky.

VisitorYesterday, when Mom and Meg visited, they brought Aunt Marie outside. Emma drove up to the hospital with their dog in the car. It was a happy reunion.

The BitchThe more I hear about the day of Aunt Marie’s surgery, the more I learn. To put it quite bluntly? My mom was a bitch. She (rightfully) ripped the surgeon up. What he was doing – pushing the surgery back by five hours without a reasonable explanation – was unacceptable and she let him hear about it. Repeatedly.

Eventually, he was all “you know, you shouldn’t be yelling at me before I go in to work on your sister.” And she was snapping back, “you’re the professional here. It is up to you to determine if you can focus to do your work.” He tried to shake her hand. She wouldn’t. And when, a few days later, he was seeing Aunt Marie when my mom happened to walk into the room, they did not speak.

Mom is still pissed about it. Aunt Marie is a patient in a health system that breeds arrogant doctors. My mom is completely intolerant of it. (We have never seen a doctor within that system.)

When you’re in the hospital, Mom is the person you want on your side.

The AttitudeAunt Marie is taking this remarkably well. Preoperatively, she seemed at peace with the decision. Postoperatively, she seems much the same. (The only time when she really panicked was during those five hours when she was waiting to go under the knife. Which was precisely the reason my mom went ape shit.)

I would not classify Aunt Marie as an overly positive person, so it is really good that she’s maintaining a good outlook. She isn’t moping. I’m really proud of her.

LabelsSometime in the near future, Aunt Marie will be moved to a rehabilitation unit. She doesn’t like the idea of “going into rehab.” Sounds too much like a place for addicts.

The ParentsOne of the saddest things about this whole situation is watching my Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa, according to Grandma, has been “very weepy.” He cried when he first saw Aunt Marie after her surgery. He has visited her every day.

I can tell that Grandma is sad, too. She does her best. She brings Aunt Marie food – soup and apple dumplings – and she sits with her every day. She listens to her complain. She is there. She does what she can.

The Other Bitch Aunt Marie can be difficult. When I was visiting on Thursday – just before I was told how pathetic I am – I listened to her complain and complain and complain. About her freezer at home. (And a little bit about her nurse. About some person who “came in and just stared at me.” About how people keep asking her when she is going to get moved to another room. About the food. Etc.)

On Saturday, she was in a foul mood because they wouldn’t let her shower. “I am 49 years old,” she ranted. “I don’t need my doctor’s permission to shower. You just wait. My sister will come here. She’ll help me into the shower.”

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

I realized something about myself today, as I walked into the hospital to see my aunt.

I watched the people around me carefully.

A girl my age. Probably going to see a friend who just had a baby.A middle-aged couple. Probably going to see their daughter, who just had a baby.A mom and a child. Probably going to see the child's aunt, who just had a baby.A man, by himself. Going home. His wife had a baby.

Every person there. I searched their faces. I glanced at what they carried. I made note of what they wore.

At the hospital for a joyous occasion.

As though my aunt was the only patient in the hospital who wasn't there to give birth.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

It started an hour ago. It was supposed to start 5 hours ago. Can you imagine that? Sitting around and waiting for your foot to be amputated? I don't know details. By the stress level in my mom's voice - I'm guessing that the waiting created nothing but anxiety.

Overall, Aunt Marie has been very at peace with this decision. I think, in some ways, she has had three years (since she first broke her ankle) to get used to this decision. She is, by nature, a negative person. But, perhaps until that four-hour wait, she did not mourn the loss of her ankle.

I hope that she sees what she is losing. Not the toes. The foot. The bones and the tissue. But the pain. The infection. The wound that could not heal.

I hope that she can remain positive. That she can rehabilitate. That she can look back on this and say "I cannot believe I didn't have it amputated earlier."

I cannot begin to understand how scary it is, the prospect of having a limb removed.

Death, I suppose, is scarier.

I cannot begin to feel what her daughters feel. Feel what my grandparents feel. Feel what my mom feels.

I can only feel how her niece can feel. I can only pray with all my might. I can only ask those I know to do the same.

Colleen brought a boy to my birthday party. A boy she met the weekend before. And he went all hog-crazy and brought her to dinner before my party. Took her to brunch after. All sorts of mush.

And then there's Ashley, who will be going out with her South Carolina boy tonight.

Lucy has her cute little marriage.

Heather is pushing her boyfriend for a proposal.

And I'm sitting on the bench.

If love were a sport I would, unquestionably, be riding the pine. Never breaking a sweat. Cheering on my teammates loudly. Softly wondering if I'd ever get playing time.

I don't even have any prospects.

I hate that I don't have any prospects. It was okay 6 months ago, when I was still wallowing in the aftermath of Colin. It isn't okay now. Because my head keeps going back to The Athlete. And seriously? If I keep pining over him, I'll be institutionalized before he returns home. ...in April. And I'll be recommitted when he brings his gorgeous European girlfriend home with him.

And things with Darren just aren't going to work out. I don't want to force it.

What I want is for a damn boy to show a little bit of interest. A very little. Barely enough to make me notice. That would be fine.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Annoying:-Washing a very fuzzy black sweater with a bunch of normal clothes that now look like normal clothes that have been washed with a very fuzzy black sweater. (How stupid can I be?)-My skin. For real? PMS was two weeks ago. Get your shit together.-It is after 11. I should be in bed so that I can go to yoga tomorrow morning. Not happening.

Not:-Finishing homework with a minimal amount of pain and suffering.-My lunch for tomorrow is mostly packed. (Packing my lunch in the morning irritates me.)-Downloading the music from last week's Grey's Anatomy.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

I just got a lovely phone call from Emma. Crying and unreasonable. She made dinner for her and her father. And then slathered it in expired mayonnaise. And because she is the way she is - she can't reason. She can't laugh at her mistakes. She flies off the handle. And then she calls my mom. I just happened to pick up the phone.

I haven't mentioned it. But her mom, my aunt Marie, is having her leg amputated below the knee on Tuesday.

My dad spilled gas all over the back of Meg's car. Where her gym bag, now soaked in gasoline, was sitting. I've spent the last few hours trying to rescue what I can. It was a Googlefest of remedies. Baking soda. Vinegar. Vanilla extract. Fabreeze. Coke. Prayer. Patience. We'll see.

Finished a project for school this afternoon. Feels good to get that off of my shoulders. Now on to the next project. An assignment due on Monday at midnight. A computer certification exam on Thursday. Another project due by Friday at midnight.

The weather today is absolutely amazing.

My Michigan football team is absolutely embarrassing.

I have been thinking about The Athlete a lot in the past few days.

Ashley left for her epic road trip this morning. I'm crossing my finger. I just want her to have a good time. Anything beyond that is a bonus, right?

Seriously considering the idea of going to Chicago for New Years Eve.

Have hockey tonight.

And last night, I had a dream that Anna and I lived in a house on a lake. With America Ferrera.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

I just got home from a fun evening with Lucy and Colleen. We had dinner. Saw Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. Had a drink. Planned our Halloween costumes. Ate cake.

And when I got home - to my mom and dad's house - I let my sister set me off with the first comment she made.

They wanted me to go to the outlet mall and to dinner. I had already committed to Lucy and Colleen. I can't be in two places at once. We had plans. They were taking me out for my birthday. I can't do everything. I need some sleep. A reduction in stress. My sanity back.

And why is it that when you're doing something that you really like you're most aware of the fact that you're alone? It felt like that tonight, with my friends. Maybe it is just Lucy and her happy marriage. Maybe it is just that I am crabby and I am tired.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

My dearest, darlingist coworker and friend, Ashley, has this boy in her life. She met this boy at a wedding in June. And then they made out at the hotel.

Fate is cruel, so he obviously lives in Atlanta. They've kept in touch - phone, text messages - since then.

There have been a few...at least three...stretches in which she won't hear from him for a few days. Once, it was a week. And during those days, I listen to her talk about him in a quiet and sad voice. "I wish he would just tell me he doesn't want to talk to me anymore."

Her sister is moving down south. Ashley is driving down with her on Sunday. There will be time spent in Atlanta. With that boy. With that boy who was in the midst of one of his no-talk sprees until he learned that Ashley would be in his town.

And now it is "I called because I wanted to hear your voice" and "I miss your face."

I haven't told her that she shouldn't do this. It is what I feel but it is not what I say. She is full of hope. And I have never met this boy.

I am a horrible friend because I do not trust him. Because I see Colin in the way that he disappears and I see me in the way that she closes herself off to other opportunities because she is so full of hope for a boy who is unavailable.

It sucks but I’m really trying not to let it take over my life. In the long run, this probably means that I won’t finish the semester with a 4.0. In the short run, I won’t be a miserable bitch who feels chained to my textbooks.

I should have spent last night on my laptop, watching endless lectures from the professor of one of my online classes. I didn’t finish all of last week’s lectures (bad, bad girl!) and this week’s lectures were posted online yesterday.

Instead, Meg came over to my house and we took cousin Emma to a special, private viewing (and photo shoot) with the Stanley Cup.

Then we went to dinner at a restaurant that is, collectively, one of our favorites. And, unfortunately, the favorite of way too many other people. We waited 45 minutes for a table after being told it would be 20. Whatever. The burger? It was worth it.

And pushing back my schoolwork was worth it. It was worth it for a totally last minute evening with my sister and my cousin. For doing something that not everyone has the chance to. For spending time with Emma, whose mom had surgery again last night.

It is good to keep your nose to the grindstone. But it doesn’t hurt to have a little perspective.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

I emailed Colin back. A combination of two good suggestions from two lovely ladies and an a-okay from Ashley. Squeezed my eyes shut as I pressed send.

He responded back in, oh, 18 seconds. No joke.

sorry just an hour and 3 minutes late, why the best birthday so far?

I emailed him back some vague crap since it, um, wasn't really my best birthday yet even though it was quite lovely. And I did not hear from him again.

[I'll confess now that, after going home for the day, I checked my work email account more than a few times to see if he replied. Nothing. And nothing today, either.]

I did see him at soccer last night. We didn't talk. He walked right by where I was sitting with a teammate. I kept my eyes down. Civil email exchange or not, I still can't look at him. We cannot be friends.

Friday, October 03, 2008

Hey stranger, I know that I am a bit late and a dollar short all the time, but I wanted to say happy belated birthday. I hope that all is well with you and things are going good. You can email me back if you would like but understand if you don't.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

I am nice and pleasant and whatever, but I’d be the first to say that not many people care for me all that much. I’m a good acquaintance, but it ends there.

It isn’t true.

There are people in this world – a good many of them – who think that I am awesome.

It is 10:30 in the morning on October 2, 2008. My birthday.

-Anna left me a birthday present outside of my bedroom door.-My dad sent me a text message wishing me happy birthday. -My coworker/nemesis (it’s a long story – he is a pain in my ass but I love him anyway) bumbled into my office telling me what a wonderful day it was. -My darling coworker brought me a Tim Horton’s gift card and a few funny, inside-joke magnets. AND she made me a cake. -PLUS she and another coworker are taking me to lunch.-Colleen called with birthday wishes. -My mom called me to tell me happy birthday.-Meg emailed me from work.-Ashley sent me silly birthday text messages. -I got two happy birthday emails from coworkers. -Lucy called to tell me happy birthday. (And to say that Chet sends his birthday wishes, too.)-My mom called me back to tell me that today is also Kelly Ripa’s birthday. -Our marketing department gifted me with one (1) Los Angeles Kings baseball hat.

The day – so far – has been lovely. A nice reminder that I am loved. That’s the best part about birthdays.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

I have no right to be. I am not visiting my daughter in the ICU. I am not fielding panicked phone calls from my terrified niece, who knows too much about medicine to sit by her mother’s bedside and convince herself that things will, without a doubt, end up okay. I am not that girl – and really, she’s just a kid – who has to balance being a daughter and a nurse. I am not The Other Daughter, terrified of the ICU and getting up every morning and going to swim practice and to high school.

I am not my grandma, my mom. I am not either of my cousins.

I have not visited my aunt in the hospital. I don’t entirely feel that I have the right to.

I don’t know what to say to Anna – who called off work each of the last two nights. She feels like it is her responsibility to sit by her mom’s bedside. Acting as her health advocate. Being her own personal nurse, not her daughter. I think she is a little resentful of that.

“When my dad came in last night, she said to him ‘I am sorry that I am sick,’” Anna told me last night. “When Emma was there? ‘I’m sorry I am so sick.’ Do you know what she said to me? ‘Thank you for helping.’”

She became a nurse so that she could help her mom. It wasn’t a conscious choice. My mom became a nurse so that she could help her sister. She did not realize it, either.

If you have been reading this blog for years and years now (we’re almost at the four-year mark, kids), or if you read the archives all the way back to late fall 2005, you might remember when Aunt Marie broke her ankle.

If you’re a newer reader, here is the recap:October, 2005: Aunt Marie breaks her ankle falling down the stairsNovember, 2005: Aunt Marie develops an infection in the ankle. She is hospitalized for a month, while they try to get the infection under control so that they will not have to amputate.Early 2006: Aunt Marie re-breaks the ankle. Back to the hospital.At various points between then and now: she is hospitalized. Not always because of her ankle. All related to her diabetes. Because of the disease, because of how frail she is and the infection and all of the damage to her ankle, it never completely healed. It remained swollen, disfigured, painful. She walks with a cane.

And now, she is septic. There is infection in her blood.

They traced the infection to her ankle.

It is likely that they will amputate.

Losing a limb is sad. My aunt has fought, for nearly three years, to keep that foot. When she is lucid enough to realize what is happening, she will be devastated.

But really? Get rid of that fucking foot. Get rid of it so she can live.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.